


Smell of milk and babies

by Davechicken



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Family Fluff, Pre-TFA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 13:19:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8163394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: Ben keeps them up at night.





	

Han is too tired to come up with anything witty to say when he slips back into bed. He’s fairly sure he’s got a piece of plasteel toy wedged into his bare foot, but he’s so exhausted he can’t actually feel pain. Not anywhere other than his head, which is worse than the night after Lando accidentally sold them both as Burlesque Dancers and they had to develop a full routine because that was, apparently, the only solution.

Ben isn’t even a bad kid: he’s just needy. He wakes up a lot and freaks out on his own until he’s reassured his parents haven’t either died or left him, and won’t sleep again until they’ve sat beside his cot for long enough after feeding or changing.

Luke did offer to give them a night off. Jedi or not, Han thinks looking after someone else’s kid at this stage is probably a mighty tall order. Maybe if he and Chewie tag-team it…

Leia’s eyes gleam in the low light, her hair soft and barely-caught up. She looks like Han feels: equal parts unconsciousness and adoration. The small thing they made - proof that love wins out - is worth all the slobber and smells and shrieks. The little grins, the grabby fingers, the giggles… those make up for it. 

(Even if he’s not sure he’ll ever know _right_ how to be a father. Leia at least had Bail, but Han…)

“Come here, you scruffy ‘herder,” Leia says, her voice rough with lack of sleep. It croaks, and damn, but it makes him love her more.

“Your turn next,” he mumbles, and snuggles up beside her.

He’s not sure if he’s awake or not when she slips out to tend to the boy. Everything sort of melts, after a while. The smell of milk and baby floods their home, and he’s never felt prouder, even blowing up the Death Star.


End file.
